When Did Your Heart Go Missing?
by Get Real Or Die
Summary: Updated 3/5/11! AU from 'Ballad' on. If you do a horrible thing and there's no way to undo it, how far do you keep going? And when do you stop? Warnings: inappropriate sex, personality changes, and Jesse's feelings will be hurt.
1. Prologue

AN: Probably gonna go episode by episode even if its just little mentions. Plus, I like having two titles for a story. Makes me feel all...tingly.

Alternate Title: Let Me (Not) Be Alone Tonight

Story Summary: What could have happened with the back nine if Will had given into Rachel in "Ballad"? Warning: People not being the best they can be.

After he wipes his hands with some wet-wipes he keeps in the dash, he tells himself that he hadn't meant to. But Rachel had been in the backseat of his car singing that ridiculous song and something inside him had snapped. His whole life had turned into a soap opera quite suddenly. Not only was he the leader of a band of misfits that constantly struggled against unlikely odds (and if this was Mighty Ducks he was Emilio Estevez which just sucked), his wife had gone crazy, and on top of that he had Rachel Goddamn Berry throwing himself at her.

He knows that she's a lonely little girl looking for affection where she can find it but he pulls the car over, opens the backdoor of his car, and lets her have it. And while he wishes he meant that in only the verbal sense, he should have realised that getting too close too her would be the worst thing to do. As he starts ranting, she yanks him into the backseat of his car by the collar of his shirt and kisses him like she never wanted to do anything else. So he gives her what she thinks she wants and...he's not gentle for the most part.

His pants stay up except for the zipper and he doesn't bother to even undress her until the moment he decides to rip open her blouse. His mouth bruises her from where he bites and nips at her lips but she's holding his arms in a death-grip and the noises she makes are like something between aroused and a wounded animal. He spreads her legs over his lap and her hands on his shoulders do nothing to convince him that he shouldn't grab a hold of her hips and move her how he wants to. It's ten minutes of moans, hisses, and hands being where they just shouldn't be and when its over he feels like the scum of the universe and Rachel's face is shadowed so he can't know what she's feeling. He fishes her underwear from under the seat and gets behind the wheel of his car so he can drive her home.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"I don't think anybody wants that."

"For someone who knows as many words as you do Rachel, I think you would have been able to say no."

"You get this glazed look in your eyes sometimes Mr. Schue and you only get it when you're ignoring what I'm saying. I can assure you that I am an expert at knowing when nobody's going to be listening to the words that come out of my mouth."

"I know that enjoying what we just did says something worrying about me and I will spend much time soul-searching to find out what's so wrong inside me that I didn't mind that the man I just gave my virginity to didn't have the decency to take off his pants before doing the deed. I have to admit though, that I'm more curious about how what we did almost definitely means that there's something just as wrong inside you. Or maybe I think that I've behaved ridiculously the past few days and I got exactly what I deserved. In either case perhaps it would behoove you to discontinue this conversation and concentrate fully on the road."

He drives the rest of the way in silence and the one time he glances at Rachel in the rearview mirror, her head is bowed and he can't make out what her bruised lips are mumbling to herself. She hops out of the car before it comes to a complete stop and she's inside her home before he can think if anything to say. What could he have said though? Even if it was an apology it wouldn't be enough. How do you even apologise for having what was at best semi-consensual sex with someone? Especially someone who was a virgin, had definitely read Gone With the Wind a few too many times, and might not even know what consensual sex is?

He vows to talk with her in the morning and he dedicates the rest of his night to trying to will the bile back down his throat.

First thing in the morning, she's the one that tracks him down in the form of a note stuffed in his teacher's box. His heart feels like its in his throat until he notices that there's just plain type on the front; no gold stars or anything that would've tipped off his colleagues to the fact that a student was contacting him. The contents of the envelope are plain and unlike Rachel at all, something that would immediately concern him if he didn't figure it was for anonymity.

"Schue,

I think it would be best if we don't mention the events of last night again. It was (at this point in the letter, he can see she crossed out the words 'a mistake') not fair for me to act the way I did and I bear no ill-will towards you for what happened. I hope the same can be said of you."

That was all the sheet of paper said and it was unsigned to boot. He crumples the envelope in his hand and tosses the note in a near-by trashcan. He goes through the day and notices that she's not there. He thinks of the way he held her to him brutally slamming her hips down to meet his and thinks that if he's sore she's lucky to be able to walk. He has to excuse himself from his 3rd period class (and perhaps it wasn't the best idea to put Santana Lopez in charge but she was hell on wheels and one of his kids to boot) to go throw up. He rinses his face off and looks in the mirror wondering who the guy looking back at him is. Because he never would have thought that he'd be capable of doing what he did. Or why he did what he did.

He had took what Rachel had said as the unintended advice it was meant to be; he had examined why he had gotten off on what had happened in the back of his car. He had forsaken his marriage vows, broken his ethics code as a teacher, and hurt a young girl who looked up to him for guidance and mentorship. All of that had been in his mind as he did these things and it hadn't mattered; not one single bit. And Rachel, though young and beautiful, was not his...oh my god she was so his type. As much as he loved Terri, until his junior year in high school, April Rhodes had been it for him. And Rachel was like April with a thesaurus minus the sassiness.

He starts hyperventilating at the thought that he may have been sumbliminating his attraction to one of his students by feigning disdain even as he was in awe. And his legs can't hold him up when he remembers that he didn't wear a condom.

AN2: Questions? Comments? Concerns? You know what to do. 


	2. Where Do We Go From Here? Part 1

Alternate Title: Let Me (Not) Be Alone Tonight

Chapter 2

After his realisation in the bathroom, he goes to Principal Figgins and tells him that he'll be taking the rest of the day off. Sue's there and even though he hears alot of 'you're weak's and 'try {insert random thing here} that's hard', he escapes with his sanity intact. As he sits in his car, he tries to think of anything but Rachel Berry. And he can't. All he can think of is her; her scent, the feel of her skin, the sounds she made when he...He attacks his steering wheel with clenched fists, furious at the fact that he can't concentrate on anything else.

He decides that he has to make it as right as he can.

15 minutes and a call to 411 later, he parks in front of the Berry's home. Its a prairie house sedately colored, decorated and designed; there are no cars in the front. He jogs up to the front steps, aware of any possible number of eyes that could be on him. He rings the doorbell once and starts to think about what he's going to say even as he lays his head on the front door in utter exhaustion. He didn't get much sleep last night; while Terri laid there snoring as usual, he thought about what he had done. Never before has he lost control of himself like that. It was an unwelcome epiphany to discover that Rachel was the only person that could have that effect on him. Not even in the days where Bryan Ryan took everything he wanted from him and smiled in his face about it had he felt so reckless and dangerous.

Will groans as he grinds his forehead into the think mahogany door in front of him. What was he going to do? He knows enough about Rachel's fathers to know that one of them was a high-powered attorney who eviscerated people in the courtroom like it was his life's work. As much as he felt that he should march in front of the both of them and confess that he violated their daughter, he knew that afterwards he'd be lucky to escape with life in prison. He was scum but he was scum that wanted to keep his job, his wife, and the life he had made for himself in this town.

And to do that, he needed to talk to Rachel.

The door opens and he snaps to attention blinking his eyes open as he does. He immediately wants to gouge them out when he sees Rachel dripping in sweat in a tanktop and a pair of sweatpants that hung low on her hips. Her face went blank when she laid eyes on him and as she stood in the doorway, he noticed that she looked like she hadn't slept well last night either. Dark circles were bold around her eyes and she looked as weary and conflicted as he felt. The state of her makes him even more determined to try and do whatever he could, if anything, to salvage at least the scraps of the man he used to be.

"May I come in Rachel? I need to talk to you."

She eyes him, dark eyes somber. She attempts to give a wan smile. "Sure. We can go to the kitchen if you want some water. I need some for myself."

He doesn't reply, just closes the door and follows her through the front entryway. There are pictures of Rachel on the walls and a family portrait above the living room fireplace makes him feel like the Berry men are following him with their eyes. They make their way into a cheery yellow and aqua blue kitchen and he quietly thanks Rachel as he sits in the stool she pulled out for him. She sits a water bottle across from him and stares at him with shadowed eyes as she drinks her own.

"What did you want Mr. Schue?"

He rubs his hand across his neck in frustration. "I just needed to talk to you and I noticed you weren't in school today."

Rachel fiddles with her water bottle eyes never leaving him. "Can't whatever this is about wait until Monday? After...well, I just kinda needed a three day weekend. What happened happened and its over and done with. I thought we could just try and forget about it." Her lips twist and the short laugh she gives has no humor in it at all. "I mean...its not like it meant anything." She looks down and grips the water bottle tight in her hands. "Not like it meant a damn thing at all."

He regards her sadly. "I don't think either of us can forget about what happened Rachel. I'm your teacher and the way I treated you last night I wouldn't have treated a perfect stranger. I took enough psychology in college to know that the fact I could do that to you of all people means something and I have to figure out what that is but that doesn't excuse my behavior towards you." He swallows dryly, his own water bottle forgotten and unopened. "Rachel I am so so..."

His eyes had dropped as he spoke so when she makes a sound of fury, he looks up quickly. She stood there fists clenched in a ball as her face drained of all blood, leaving her looking chalky and pale. Her voice is so choked that he barely understands her words. "Don't apologise. I made you...I could've gotten away from you at anytime and I didn't even try. As violent as it was, I liked it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat even though it made me feel like a horrible person. I followed you around like a bitch in heat and I got what I was looking for. So please, don't apologise. I can't stand it." She collapses against the fridge and drops to the floor in silent tears.

He goes around the island between them and kneels down next to her. "Rachel, I'm your teacher. I should've never put a hand on you. And as for you asking for it..." He sighs and puts a hand on the fridge she's slumped against so that he could try to regain his bearings. "There's no such thing. I am sorry because I have every reason to be." His hand, the one that isn't pressed against the refrigerator, hesitantly presses into hers where it sits on her lap.

She ducks her head. "You hurt me ; quite a bit to be absolutely honest. But everything else..." She shakes her head as her hair tumbles forward to drop over her face. "You could've done anything to me and I would've let you just for the chance to touch you; even just a little." Her hand shakes from where his is laid over it and her voice sounds vaguely accusing when she speaks again. "I still would. You make me want you in the most terrible way Mr. Schuester. And out of all the things I've ever wanted too much, I think you're the one I might not be able to stop wanting no matter how much it tears at me."

As if he's in a trance, he sees his hand move forward to tangle into her hair and pull her head up. Her eyes burn from where she looks up at him and there's still a slight sheen of sweat on her from where she'd been dripping with it when she answered the door. He looks at her and takes in what he's seeing. Her eyebrows were small and thin, her mouth was dry and chapped, and there was a dull red flush spreading across her face the longer he silently regarded her. He grasps her head in both of his hands and kisses her soundly. He knows what he's doing and he knows its a bad thing; neither of those facts make a difference as he holds onto her shoulders so he can use them as leverage to pull her into his lap.

He's gentle this time and she doesn't flinch when he kisses her again and again. Her hands had snaked under both his button up and his undershirt just to palm his chest over his heartbeat. The intimacy of the gesture doesn't seem displaced, oddly enough. He pays it no mind and continues to kiss her all over her collarbone and throat. Soon he's licking her all over and she's moving on top of him erratically. She whispers fervently, "If I can just get you out of my head. Out of my system I'll be okay." His hands shake as he slips one into the depths of her sweatpants and the other to twist at her nipples where they protrude through her tanktop. He can feel her orgasm and he knows she can feel his even through the layers of her sweatpants and his slacks.

He just came in his pants like a teenager and he desecrated someone's home by defiling their daughter in it. He's sitting there just feeling the incredulity at his actions run through his body when Rachel disentagles herself from him so she can stand up. He gazes at her in utter bewilderment and the look of hunger and satisfaction on her face seems misplaced with the terribleness of the situation.

"I'm going to make a protein shake. Would you like something to eat Mr. Schuester?"

"I...I could eat."

She makes him a sandwhich and when he leaves 2 hours later, he finds it pathetic that the best thing he can say about the whole encounter is that he at least used a condom this time.

AN: As always, reviews and comments are appreciated.  



	3. where Do we Go From Here? Part 2

AN: Rachel's POV of chapters 1 and 2. Chapter one took place Thursday night ending with Friday morning and Chapter 2 is Friday morning and afternoon

Warnings: Talks of contraception, vivid imagery, and more discussion of the fine-line betweeen dub-con and non-con

Alternate Title: Let Me (Not) Be Alone Tonight

Chapter 3 Summary: For the first time in her life, Rachel Berry is completely unsure about what she wants. And as you'd suspect, shit goes down.

There's a moment when she wakes up Friday morning and last night didn't happen.

It makes her hate herself more than anything because that moment feels like a betrayal to what she thought she wanted. From the moment Mr. Schuester had started singing 'Endless Love' it had been like a veil was falling away from her eyes. It felt like she could see into him and hoped more than anything he too could look back at her one day and see who she really was. And that just feels like another lie she had told herself because what had gone on in that backseat had felt like she was seeing him in a new way but not in any way she liked.

Rachel knew her flaws and she knew her strengths. As such, there was no way she had expected that night to end in anything except for more rejection. Rejection and herself were good acquaintances so she had been singing that stupid song, idly thinking about how she was going to take a long shower and get ready for her My Space video when Mr. Schuester had pulled off onto a little side street that was shadowy with trees. And then he's yelling at her: calling her ridiculous, short-sighted, desperate. She's sitting there in horror as Mr. Schuester calls her all manner of names and she thinks, might as well embarrass myself completely.

Her hands go around loops on his slacks and she yanks him into her. His knees hit the pavement outside the car but she's kissing him and thinking, okay; it's over with. But its not. Mr. Schuester closes the door he came in and the driver door he came out of before he's kissing her again. And she's been kissed by Finn and Puck but it wasn't anything like this. With Puck, it had been frantic but almost professional which made her wonder how much of Puck's pool cleaning business was actually about cleaning pools. With Finn it had felt like a warm blanket had fallen over her on a cold winter's night and even when he ran from her like he did she still felt that feeling until the reality of the situation hit her dead in the eyes and she just couldn't.

This is nothing like either of those. Mr. Schuester's hands are shaking and so are her lips and her knees. Kissing him feels like being devoured and from every fit she's thrown to every tear she's cried, she's always been in control of herself to some extent and the moment it hits her that Mr. Schuester's most definitely not she kinda goes in a sort of catatonic state that lasts until he's fishing her underwear from under the seat and handing it to her.

She says something in response to things he says but the ride home mostly like she's been struck dumb and dunked underwater. Nothing makes sense and when she stumbles out of the car and up to the front door, she fumbles with her keys for a second even though they're right in her hand. She goes upstairs and dives underneath her covers and it takes forever for her to stop shaking. There was no My Space video that night and there's no sleep either. In the morning she skips her exercises and sneaks into school early enough to avoid anyone but the janitor. A quick raid in her locker gives her plain paper and an envelope and she's back at home in time for the first bell.

Rachel's not stupid; if Quinn's taught her anything (besides how not to act when she's a star) its to be properly prepared for any and all emergencies regarding possible impregnation. If Mr. Schue had given her a moment, she could have pulled out the condom that was taped inside the back of her day-planner. Along with the spermicide that she would have employed had she been given a moment to breathe or think, the condom would've brought about a moment of clarity in Mr. Schuester and he would've thought 'she's my student, she has a condom, this has to stop' and the thought would've stopped the both of them from going too far.

If he had thought to ask her, if he had thought to protect her and himself, she would be in math class perhaps fondly thinking of how he had bended but didn't break from her onslaught; something she wanted to be able to say about him from the moment she realized that what she felt was a crush and it was harmless because he was harmless. She had thought Mr. Schue would be nice and sweet and he'd kiss her until he had to tear away in disgust at himself and the way she had made him almost lose sight of his morality. He'd be a better person because he did get that moment of 'this is wrong', they'd be awkward with each other until she apologised for putting him in that position in the first place, and the guilt he felt would be just enough for her to have more of a say in Glee. But in all of the impossible (or so she thought, anyways) fantasies, no matter how far it got, he was always supposed to be nice.

In the immortal words of Xander Harris: well, look who just got mean.

She goes into her lock box and takes the morning after pills she had demanded her daddies purchase for her once she had started menstruating. It was covered by their fabulous health-care and though both of them had seemed amused at her for requesting such a thing, she had explained that once she was sexually active she'd like to be able to take all possible precautions. For 2 years, they'd been thrown away and re-stocked the minute they expired and she's never taken one despite the curiosity of what they'd do if not used for their intended purpose. For the last few months, she's imagined reaching in and looking at Finn as she does, serious but amused as she says, "well this is what happens when people get carried away, I suppose." Once the news about Quinn's pregnancy had been let loose, she had imagined meeting his eyes with just the tiniest (only the tiniest, she swears) bit of smugness that said, "Guess its good I was prepared isn't it?"

But she doesn't feel amused and she doesn't really feel smug either. She doesn't know if its allowed to be mixed with the Ibuprofen she seriously needs but instead of looking it up online like she normally would, she simply dry swallows the pills, forgoing the Ibuprofen to change into her workout clothes since last night's outfit feels like being trapped inside of the filthiest cage imaginable. Her breath hitches when she sees the fingerprints on her hips and she almost swears when she notices the bruises on her arms and around her mouth after she rushes to the nearest mirror. Her whispered words are genuinely horrified. "I might as well be wearing a Scarlet Letter."

She looked like a starved and ravaged whore. Her hair (always so shiny, no thanks to frequent slushies) was a matted rat's nest that looked like someone had tried to brush it with a tumbleweed. Her eyes look like racoon's even though this is not her first rodeo when it comes to sleep deprivation and she's never looked this wretched after one night of sleeplessness before. There's a dazed quality in her eyes (something about the way she can't follow her finger with her eyes as fast as she's usually able to) that she doesn't like. Her beautiful skin that she's always been careful to protect and always thought the softness of would probably get her a shot at Finn more than anything else, looks like some malicious kindergartner used it as their canvas for finger painting or worse... like a woman from a Lifetime movie. Like some kind of victim who did nothing wrong.

The elliptical wasn't going to cut it today. She digs out her running shoes from her closet and ties them up tightly, pleased to see they still fit like good running shoes should. She uses the elliptical for her cardiovascular training because her knees and ankles could only absorb so much shock before there'd be problems. When she's on Broadway, the daily shows would take a toll on what would be her rapidly-reaching its-peak-body so Rachel's always known that now was the time to take care of her body and make sure her legs made their way through college and onto Broadway.

That's one reason she still can't believe Finn chose football over Glee. The risk of blowing out his knees was clearly not worth it when the team stunk as badly as it did. Being on Broadway was probably more devastating on one's body than the sport of football, if not in sheer brutality than at least over time. There were 16 games played a year in the NFL and the shelf-life of a decent player was 15 years if they were lucky but if you were good? Broadway would hold onto you like death's grip and you'd do the same until it was all over.

But today she's not thinking about her knees or her ankles as she runs. She's thinking about the dull throbbing between her legs and how it happened. The look on Mr. Schuester's face when he handed her back her underwear had been properly remorseful but she has to wonder what made him snap like that. The idea that she could inspire such an emotion in any man made her feel alternately ice cold and red hot somewhere deep inside of herself and when she throws up on the side of the road well into her 3rd mile, it makes her feel like she's throwing up with someone else. And you can call it intuition or just plain psychicness, but she just knows that the someone throwing up with her is Mr. Schue.

She tries to think about anything but what that feeling could mean on the way home. She falls into the house dripping with sweat and panting like a dog but the pain in her legs and lungs keeps her from feeling the bruises on her face and hips. Like everything else in life its simply a trade-off and she lays there on the floor of the foyer and breathes like the next breath might be her last. Her body regulates her breathing almost automatically and its just one of the many times her training keeps her body from doing what she thinks she wants. Its like how sometimes she wants to cry so much until it makes her throat raw but her body won't let her because if the human body was built for anything, it was built for self-preservation. And if she can't sing? Even her own body knows there won't be anything left to preserve.

As she lays on the floor, she begins to think about the predicament she found herself in and for the first time since Mr. Schue dropped her off, she starts to feel hopeful. She's done enough research to know that there are many different ways to have sex and that different people liked different things. Mr. and Mrs. Schue are high-school sweethearts and maybe that was just (what was that saying?) 'how they rolled'. And fine; more power to them. But she didn't like it that way one bit. Her mind's at ease (because it was simply a difference in sexual appetite, not a case of her teacher being a secret sociopath) and then the doorbell rings and every fiber of her being says don't answer it.

She does anyway and its Mr. Schue. He looks as wretched as she does but he appears to at least be cleaner than she is at the present time. He doesn't seem to mind, judging by the way his pupils dilate when they scan over her. She has no idea what she wants to do in this situation but she knows she can't leave him standing on the porch while she tries to figure it out. They go into the kitchen just to stare at each other from across her kitchen island and it would be awkward except she knows her lines even though she's never read the script before last night.

Whatever happens today, she knows can't let Mr. Schue walk away thinking she hadn't wanted what he did to her. She hadn't really but if there's a fitting way to say that, let someone else try to find it. She had wanted who she thought Mr. Schuester was and it wasn't his fault that in all of her school girl fantasies she had never even contemplated the idea that he might be into hurting and dominating instead of soothing and promoting a delicate sexual balance of give and take.

She's on the floor in front of the fridge and she said the right things but they definitely meant more than they should have. Her body is sore but its not any worse than when her feet used to bleed in her ballet shoes. She's dealt with emotional rejection that hurt worse than the sharp throbbing between her legs and the only difference was that all of those things, in some small way, had turned out to be worth it. Even if Finn wasn't her boyfriend (would never be because she's used goods now, not good and sweet and perfect like Quinn Fabray) he was her leading man and no one but Finn could take that away from her.

Each and everytime she reached her hand out to someone only to get it thrown back in her face, she simply consoled herself with the knowledge that one day someone would grab hold of it instead. When her fathers are gone for weeks at a time, she takes it with the knowledge that they love her and support her dreams more than most parents do for their children regardless of the fact that they were around 24 hours a day. Every slushie thrown in her face is simply another brick in the wall of the obligatory 'I was bullied in high-school, now look what I can do' stories. Even though she has to strain herself look for the bright side, so much so that its ridiculous at times, rarely does she walk away as the loser even if the wins are moral or intangible.

There's no win, no brightside here. She lost her virginity in the backseat of a car and the car didn't even have the decency to be a limo or something ironic like a DeLorean. She wants to flinch away from the hand on hers and if it wasn't a matter of...she doesn't even know, she wouldn't be able to meet Mr. Schue's eyes when he yanks her head up to his level. He's her number one fan (he said so) and she wouldn't be able to look at him if it wasn't for the fact that she knows how many knives there are in her kitchen and how far away they are from where she's sitting.

He's looking at her and she wonders what he's seeing, because for the first time, she's not going to look for something that's not there as she looks back at him. His face is lined, making it clear for perhaps the first time that he's a man twice her age; not some boy for her to obsess with for a week and then give up the ghost just to go back to her regularly scheduled program. He's handsome almost devastatingly so, though in hindsight that may just be his demeanor during school hours adding to his looks and making them extraordinary. His wedding band is cold on the side of her face and she wonders if it digs into his hand like it's presently clawing into her face. There's a metaphor waiting to burst out but then he's kissing her and she feels every molecule in herself wanting to run until she realizes...

He's being nice and sweet and gentle like he just knew that this was what she wanted. What she needed. Then he's hauling her into his lap again but she doesn't find herself going to that scary blank place she thought existed just for this. She's here in the moment and its frantic but he's kissing her like she matters, like it's Rachel that he's feeling and seeing; no one but her.

It's a heady feeling and that more than anything else gives her what she suspects was her first orgasm. She can't help but regulate her heartbeat to match the one that's rapid beneath her hand and she keeps moving on top of Mr. Schue until he makes a sound of completion. And just like almost everything else in her life, she's been duly compensated for how horrible the whole situation will make her feel n the long run. In her experience, that's the best she usually gets. The tension bleeds from her shoulders and she's hungry for the first time today.

She throws her protein powder and some milk into the blender and she goes to the fridge for Mr. Schue's sandwich fixings. Her movements are sharp and mechanical as they always are when she's in the kitchen. The act of preparing food irritates her in a way she can't verbalize for the life of her, even if it was just something as simple as preparing a sandwhich. But life's made her nothing if not practical so she just tackles her culinary practices with even more swiftness than any of the other tedious things she has to endure in day to day life in Lima, Ohio.

The preperation and clean-up takes about 5 minutes and she's surprised to see that Mr. Schue's still slumped in his place against the island and that he hasn't moved an inch. He seems to be in a fugue state of some kind and she sighs as she hopes a decent meal would do the job. What's done is done and it just happened to have been done on her kitchen floor.

She goes to pour some chips on his plate and grabs his hand so they can head upstairs. Its clammy, as is hers, but he holds on tight just the same.

Part 2

There's a reason she doesn't invite him into her room.

Its not particularly because of how it showcases her age either. She's fifteen 3/4ths and that's a fact; come mid December she'll be 16 and that's also a fact. Trying to seem mature and wanting people to treat you like an adult was completely different than hiding your adolescence away in a room and hoping for the best. She's not doing either. Honestly, she doesn't know what she's doing but she does know where she's not doing it.

Her room is a representation of herself in what has to be the purest way possible. She's picked out pieces for a couple of rooms in the house but this house was her fathers' home and that bled through every room in the house except for the one with a gold star on the door. If you knew how to look, stepping into her room and being there was like being inside of her.

Puck wouldn't know how to look she was fairly certain and she had felt no compunctions about him being in her room during their brief interlude together. If Finn had ever been in her room (which never happened, would never happen now) she wouldn't have worried either. But Mr. Schuester being inside of her room would open parts of herself to scrutiny and she just wasn't comfortable with that.

They go into the guest room, her with her protein shake and him with the roast beef sandwhich she made for him. While she doesn't eat meat or cheese either for that matter, she knows she makes a damn good sandwhich and the knowledge has her looking forward to the look on his face when he first bites into it. They pass her room, her parents' room and the lesser of the two guest rooms before walking into the room where she keeps her records.

This was the guest room her dad Leroy's parents use when they came to visit, as rare as that was. She chose this room not only because its where her records and the player is but because it seems like he'd enjoy the dark forrest green and the clean lines that make up the room. Whether he enjoys it or not, the moment they enter it seems to shake him out of where ever he'd been inside of himself as he takes in the stark, imposing furniture and the creeping shadows in the room apparent even with the fall sunlight streaming through the edges of the heavy velvet curtains.

She grabs the plate of food and sets it on a napkin she had tucked over the plate just for that purpose alone. Her smoothie stays in her hand but she beckons Mr. Schuester to the closet where her record collection is. As much as she enjoys the convenience of her Ipod there was something, for lack of a better word, majestic about owning and using a record player. She goes for a crate that's shunted into the corner of the closet and gives it to Mr. Schuester.

"Pick something."

She watches, curious at what he'd come up with from her bin of 80's music. He's muttering to himself and she's almost done with her shake and ready to intervene when Tears For Fears comes through loud and clear on the player. She shakes her head inexplicably amused at Shout and Mr. Schue's raptorous gaze when he notices that Roland Orzabal had signed the cover. It was one of her prized possessions and it makes her frown when she realises that this too is a way to see inside of her.

She knows now that she doesn't want that. Hiding yourself kept you lonely and isolated but it didn't open you up to this raw feeling of confusion and want. She's so hurt and so angry and so scared but she still wants to touch him all over and see if his neck tastes the same as it did when she had latched onto it in blind instinct. He's perched on the edge of the massive sleigh bed, water bottle in hand and the plate of food in his lap. He steadily avoids her gaze as he picks at the food and she wants to examine him; break him open like he seems to have done to her.

She shakes her head, dizzy all of a sudden. Tears For Fears grates in her ears but its happened before. There are times when she's listening to the Wicked Soundtrack or watching Funy Girl and she just has to turn it off. Its like looking into a caricature of herself and sometimes being Rachel Berry and sitting alone on your couch watching West Side Story for the 37th time (and you know what number because you're Rachel Berry so of course you keep track of things like that) is more humiliating and soul crushing than all of the slushies she's ever taken to the face.

So she collects various genres of music; not things she particularly likes but sometimes they grow on her and sometimes they don't. And while she likes Tears for Fears well enough, if she hears the phrase 'violent times' one more time she's going to go berserk. But there are crates full of music she picks and listens to whenever being herself and all that entails happens to get a little too much for her. She puts on Deftones' Adrenaline and when Bored comes on she waits for the intro to finish before she puts away Tears For Fears and turns toward the bed.

Mr. Schue's legs are dangling over the side and she looks at the way his jeans grab at his thighs and knees, feeling wired. This is not a pleasant feeling. Being able to regulate yourself was very important and this persistent need she has to throw herself at Mr. Schue simply because it was intriguing to watch how he got even more bewildered at the turn of events is wrong. Its wrong to want confusion to spread simply because you don't want to be the only one confused, the only one scared.

Or maybe it was just human. Either way it feels right to go over to the bed and slide his belt buckle out from his jeans, ignore the protests that seem to be half-hearted at best, and pull them down without even bothering to take off his shoes. She's standing between his legs with one hand placed on Mr. Schue's twitching stomach where its shoved underneath his shirt as the other nudges his knees apart as far as she can.

"Rachel..."

She shushes him impatiently. Its probably unnerving for him to be spread open on a bed and be regarded like he's a present someone didn't know they had wanted but she doesn't care, not really. Being selfish, completely selfish, thinking of no one but herself? Its like donning an old coat that feels warm and fits like a dream.

She kisses his knee, curiously exploring a strange divot there with her tongue. He jerks a little, knee jumping in her mouth almost knocking out her teeth. Her hands are stroking up and down his thighs in a slow rhythmic motion and she squeezes every so often. The thing she forgot (the thing she always forgets) is that everything's a learning exercise; every new situation a life experience to cross off her list. She's got him here and that's what's important; not how they got here, if either of them want to really and truly want to be there, what they'd decide to do once they leave here. Nothing else matters.

She hooks an arm underneath his waist, using it as leverage to pull him just a little further over the side of the bed and hook both of his legs over her shoulders. She probably should've taken his shoes off before she had pulled that move but the heavy feel of Mr. Schue's sneakers against her back was merely annoying. Plus the squeak Mr. Schue makes in surprise causes her to huff into the skin against her cheek, amusement making her a little giddy.

The side of her face is pressed into his left thigh and she bites her way to the crease at the top of it, taking her sweet time. She sucks, a little here, licks a little there, and as she goes she catalogues the sounds and feel of it all. Its nice to just be able to touch and pet. She should get to do as she pleases for once in her life without people in her damned way every ten seconds telling her 'no' or 'not yet' or 'never' no matter how many dues she's willing to pay. Its Friday morning, she's ditched school for the first time in her life, and the goddamn Deftones of all things were playing as she molests her teacher.

After a thought like that its impossible not to do the most reckless thing she can think of and takes Mr. Schuester all the way into her throat. She had googled 'no gag reflex' and 'boyfriend' on her phone not five minutes after she left Ms. Pillsbury's office that day and she'd done what she did best; researched. But practical research is the best and final research so she swallows and breathes and swallows and breathes.

Breathing through her nose isn't something that's difficult for her so she crouches there sucking periodically, enjoying the way Mr. Schue's fingers twitch in her hair. Her back hurts from the awkward position and the point of one of Mr. Schue's knees are digging into the side of her neck, he's twisting into himself so bad but its good. Its better than good because she's in control here. She holds him down by the point of his hips and leaves a little bruising of her own for good measure.

She feels like she's losing her mind but it doesn't matter much when he comes and she leaves his dazed body to get a condom from her room. And her possible mental state doesn't matter at all when she applies all of the focus that's going to get her out of this town one day into making Mr. Schue's body forget that its already ejaculated twice in an hour.

Another hour goes by before she climbs off him, the silence in the room deafening. She looks at him; his red-rimmed eyes, the utterly owned look to his body, the bruising on his wrists. It doesn't make what happened Thursday unhappen but at least he had seemed to like it when she had held him by the wrists, the bone underneath creaking from her deathgrip. But he's got a weekend to recover and so does she.

She doesn't ask him to leave his wife and she doesn't ask him to stay. The key to figuring out what you want (when you don't know already) is to eliminate all of the things you don't want. And she knows that no matter what happens, she doesn't want to feel like she didn't give as good as she got and that doesn't seem like its gonna be a problem. So basically...

"I'm finished. There's towels and soap in the guest bedroom across the hall. I'm gonna take a shower."

She doesn't try to see him out and she doesn't fetch his clothes from where their scattered across the room. She goes to take a thorough shower and she plans what song she's going to sing on My Space while she scrubs. Mr. Schue's car is gone when she looks out of her bedroom window and she doesn't really care either way. The temporary indifference shouldn't be a relief but it is.

She doesn't know what's going on in her head or if she'll ever remember what happened Thursday night. She's blocked it out and she'd like it to stay blocked out but things don't work like that. At the most inconvenient time and place, it'll all come rushing back to her (for her) but until then?

The weekends are her time to get away from the negative feelings that McKinley High has come to associate to her and if he's to become a part of the things she'd like to avoid in that place, so be it. She'll know either way by Glee practice next week. The camera, the music, and her showface come on in perfected synchronicity leaving nothing to chance. So she does what she does best; she sings until she fells less empty, less unfulfilled, less unbalanced. And just like always the hole inside of her closes a little further. But not enough, never enough.

She posts three videos on My Space that afternoon and goes running, pavement hard and damaging underneath her feet.

AN2: Sorry for the delay but let me know if the wait was worth it.


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